


The Seduction of Alec Lightwood

by bidness



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Drabble, Flirty, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bidness/pseuds/bidness
Summary: He begins by accenting himself, discreetly of course, in ways that will draw Alec’s attention to the more favorable parts of Magnus’ body, though he’d argue to the ends of the Earth that Alec is partial to all parts of him. It’s in the rings, specifically chosen silver, tried and true and traditional. If seducing a shadowhunter is tradtional.Another random sexy Malec moment.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 7
Kudos: 126





	The Seduction of Alec Lightwood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i_am_not](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_not/gifts).



> Not what I intended to write, but intended for you nonetheless. Sorry for all the spazzing you had to (and will have to) endure!

In all of Magnus’ hundreds of years he’s never been anything but subtle with his ploys to get handsome men into his bed. Anyone who’d say otherwise has clearly never been a proper victim of his skills. 

It starts off like a game, a tug-of-war that always ends up one-sided, and Magnus loves to win. He’s rarely lost, and sometimes he’s given up but each one has been justified in his mind, because the odds of chance are not always stacked in his favor. And that’s okay, most of the time. 

The seduction of Alec Lightwood is a little... _different_. 

Alec’s not your traditional man, closeted enough to still have to peek through the cracks of his desires, but hidden in plain sight, and Magnus is definitely, _definitely_ looking. 

He begins by accenting himself, discreetly of course, in ways that will draw Alec’s attention to the more favorable parts of Magnus’ body, though he’d argue to the ends of the Earth that Alec is partial to all parts of him. It’s in the rings, specifically chosen silver, tried and true and traditional. If seducing a shadowhunter is tradtional. 

When he talks, he moves his hands, glides his fingers through the air with so much charm they could hypnotize anyone susceptible enough. Alec looks, catches the light that sparks off of his rings, and when those lips part and suck in a shallow breath that practically pulls at Magnus’ magic, he thinks he’s got him hooked. But it breaks quickly, Alec’s lips twisting into an impenetrable seam that block any victory Magnus thinks he’s gained. 

He’ll just try harder. 

And harder he does. He tries next with the necklaces that scoop across his collar in layers that seem strewn and haphazard, but are so carefully placed it’s almost a crime to believe otherwise. It works, he thinks. He sees Alec’s eyes graze across his skin, feels the warmth they leave behind, sees the way his jaw works like he’s biting back the need to move his mouth against every inch he’s offered. Spurred on by the heat that starts to tug at his inhibitions, he traces his fingers along the string of one, a long strand of beads that pulls focus immediately. 

He likes the way Alec’s eyes snap, how they widen imperceptibly only visible from years of experience that Magnus prides himself on. And when they drag up to meet Magnus, shaken and needing, he almost grins. 

But he doesn’t, because Alec’s face is almost completely washed clean with a smug look that startles a frown out of him. 

Alec’s onto him. 

He needs to be craftier. 

So, he changes his hair next. It’s more attention-grabbing, he knows this, but Alec won’t notice it’s for him. Well, not _for him_ , more for Magnus and his selfish demand for winning at everything. But he does it anyways, spikes it messier with the swirl of his fingers, tinges it with a dark blue that’s noticeable in the daylight that Magnus plans to bask himself in when Alec arrives. He plans to look like he’s just rolled out of bed from a marathon of sex that has left his cheeks rosy with satisfaction and breathless. 

He’s pleased with the hungry lick of his lips that Magnus is given when Alec finally shows up at his loft, perfectly content with the way Alec is tugging at him, pulling at his carefully coordinated messy strands. He cries indignant—or victorious he’s not sure yet—and is met with a loud growl that he’s all too willing to hear again. 

His wish is granted when Alec repeats it, hot and breathy in his ear as he pushes Magnus against the vanity. His leg is hiked high around Alec’s hip, the rough wandering hands skimming across his back, his thighs, his ass until they’re palming between their bodies. It’s debauched and sinful the way Alec’s touching him, taking him, demanding his own wants of Magnus. 

The moans that escape his lips are whiny and tainted with a defeat Magnus doesn’t want to admit, craving more from Alec as he’s being flipped around and jostled with hardly a thought to the perfumes and trinkets that clatter to the floor around them. He hears, then feels, then _sees_ the way Alec burns his lips to the skin of Magnus’ neck slick from the heat of their bodies and breaths of lechery. 

The mirror of his vanity leaves nothing to the imagination behind its honesty, and Magnus suddenly wants to pattern the walls with the reflections of him and Alec, mirrors that will let him see every twist and turn that their bodies will take. He wants to see them in the morning sun when Alec’s eyes are blurry with sleep but his lust is just as awake as Magnus has been for hours watching him. He wants to see how Alec writhes under him during the afternoon when he’s requested him home for a lunch that consists of just Magnus, lazing in their bed expectant and decorated in only the chains he’s draped across his neck. To nights when the moon regales them with tales of lovers intertwined, their bodies taking the time to map each other out and every freckle and scar illuminates like stars in the night sky. 

There’s more he wants, _so much more_ , but all he finds himself grasping is loss. 

_Loss._

With fuzzy vision he tries to focus on Alec through the mirror who’s stepped back and looks the epitome of calm and collected, a _smirk_ on his lips. Lips that should be firmly and deeply on Magnus’ right now... 

“I know what you’re doing,” Alec’s voice comes out husky and low and vibrating through every nerve on Magnus’ skin. 

He releases a shaky breath that he isn’t proud of, squints in front of him to the man behind his body who looks wickedly delighted and it’s not fair. He wants to come off aloof and self-possessed but with his clothes askew and his hair a rumpled mess he just looks indecent and thirsty. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Alexander. _You’re_ the one who attacked _me_.” 

He lifts a hand, stalls for time and attempts to not let the tremble in his fingers show when he flits at his hair. Alec, despite his careful indifference trails his eyes up to the action and back down, slowly, taking in the muscles that work to move Magnus’ arm. 

“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” Alec murmurs, almost drowned out by the raspiness of his voice. And Magnus wants to turn around and kiss him, wants to strip away every barrier between them and feel the rumble of Alec’s baritone around him. 

But Magnus likes to win. 

Alec may think he’s the victor today, and he’ll let him believe that, because he has no idea the game he’s just voluntarily catapulted himself into. So Magnus smiles. Placid, knowing, and planning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Kudos and comments are appreciated and I'll love you forever. (:


End file.
